


Only This and Nothing More

by purplekitte



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Mutilation, Night Lords Canon-Typical Warnings, Prince of Crows, Stockholm Syndrome, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplekitte/pseuds/purplekitte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rushal tried to avoid the Stockholm Syndrome and hate Sevatar properly. He tried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only This and Nothing More

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: all of them (specifically: rape, non-explicit sex, torture, mutilation, emotional abuse/manipulation, Stockholm syndrome, suicide attempts)
> 
> Inspired by wolffyluna's Rushal headcanons [Rushal](http://wolffyluna.tumblr.com/post/55582118029/alastor-rushal-headcanon-backstory) [headcanons](http://wolffyluna.tumblr.com/post/55999371770/in-which-alastor-rushals-tongue-is-removed)  
> (cross-posted from tumblr)

Rushal knew perfectly well this was wrong. The parody of domesticity. How some unconscious part of him wanted to respond to it, even while his conscious mind knew he had no reason to be grateful because everything wrong with him was Sevatar’s fault in the first place (well, most of everything). He knew this was the trap captives fell into, mistaking lack of abuse for kindness.

Sevatar was never kind, not really. Probably. He seemed to act without rhyme or reason to some internal logic that only made sense to him, switching between displays of different emotions so quickly none of them could possibly be more than masks in some play he was putting on.

‘There you go,’ Sevatar whispered near his ear, taking the cup from his lips and using the hand in his hair to tilt his head back to help him swallow. Rushal managed to use his remaining muscles to get the liquid down without a coughing fit, a trick he was getting better at with practice. Not that choking to death on his own saliva didn’t sound attractive, but his physiology made it so he couldn’t do more than inconvenience himself when he tried, a sensible precaution when someone was made to be able to spit acid (and he had tried). ‘More?’

Rushal shrugged. The heavily watered down nutrient paste probably wouldn’t have tasted like much even when he’d had taste buds. He wasn’t expecting his appetite or lack thereof to be honoured, though.

‘I can’t have you wasting away.’ He returned it to his lips, but waited for Rushal to open his mouth on his own.

He did, eventually. The inaction always got to him eventually, the need to do something, anything. He should have some kind of meditative serenity, but lacked the patience for it. He should take every opportunity to be defiant, even if that meant Sevatar would have to punish him for it and some weak part of him flinched away from the pain.

No, Sevatar didn’t have to do anything. He was choosing this scenario because he was a bad person. Rushal knew the potential consequences of his actions from experience and Sevatar telling him things he intended, but the only thing he deserved punished for was being the sort of total idiot who did stupid things even knowing what was going to happen in response, that didn’t mean... No, that had come out wrong somehow, but whatever it was it didn’t mean he deserved being hurt by him in the first place.

‘Good. Can you finish the rest yourself?’

Rushal found himself nodding, and worse found himself slowly drinking the rest swallow by swallow without throwing anything at Sevatar after his hands were freed. He just wanted to drink his own damn food without needing to be fed like an infant or an invalid, and the sheer annoyance outweighed losing that privilege again and having to put up with Sevatar going on about temper tantrums.

Why was Sevatar willing to spend hours with him? When he’d been torturing him all the time at least he’d been able to pretend he was hoping for some intelligence or just getting off on it. Didn’t he have other things to be doing? Couldn’t he fob so much of his upkeep off on a servitor? He suspected that Sevatar liked seeing him hurt from impotence and shame as much as he liked peeling off layers of his skin, so he relished breaking him every step of the way with his own hands.

He thought about throwing the empty glass at him, but what would he really be accomplishing? What would he be proving? He set it down in one piece and felt absolutely no complications or distractions in how virulently he hated himself.

‘Good boy,’ Sevatar murmured, moving behind him and running his fingers through his hair. ‘Do you want a reward for good behaviour?’

He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it was nice to believe he had some control over something. If he shook his head, Sevatar wouldn’t give him whatever he had in mind. If he nodded, he would. Rushal didn’t do anything, because he didn’t want to know which he would choose.

‘Leaving the choice up to me? I’m flattered.’ He paused as if to consider. ‘Stay still and I won’t make you ask for it.’

Sevatar didn’t count shuddering against staying still as he got out a bucket of water and a sponge to wash Rushal with. The water was cold, but that shouldn’t have made him shiver. It was more that Sevatar was being soft and gentle, stopping and being even more careful removing dried blood from a recent scab whenever Rushal exhaled too sharply, his tuneless humming, his tracing of old scars.

 _He’s the one who cut me in the first place,_ he told himself again and again. Sevatar pulled him into his lap as he kept working, his lips brushing everywhere it hurt as though he could kiss it better.

‘No one else will ever come save you, Raven. No one would take you back. But you’ll always have me.’ _He lies, he lies, he lies,_ Rushal told himself, wishing he didn’t believe every word. ‘No matter how alone you are or what you did that you can never take back, I’ll always be here for you. We’re all monsters here. Even if you’re too broken to believe in anything, even if you’re lost and in the deepest despair, there’s always the night to gather you home.’

Underlying his words, Sevatar wrapped his arms around Rushal and held him tightly, and Rushal couldn’t help but lean into it. He didn’t want this to feel comforting. He didn’t want to want this. He couldn’t think right when Sevatar wasn’t hurting him.

He didn’t want Sevatar to let him go because what if all his chains were cut and he stayed anyway? He had nowhere else to go. What if he liked the idea of letting the monster he was underneath out more than being alone in some dark corner of exile or offing himself properly? What if he’d always been broken inside?

He tried not to react when Sevatar reached between his legs, really he did. Sevatar whispered in his ear and he wished he’d just bite him, dislocate a shoulder just because he could and he liked the way Rushal looked when he was in pain, anything.

‘You’re so pretty. I knew I wanted you since I first saw you. So be mine and I’ll look after you.’

 _You are the danger,_ Rushal thought back. _You’ll never protect me from yourself when you find it more enjoyable to hurt me and even your shows of kindness are cruel and you know it. I want to be free and to not be in pain and to believe I’m a good person and to never have met you._

It was unpleasant but easier when the rape was brutal, when Sevatar tied him down and fucked him until he was raw and bloody, not this twisted parody of affection.

Just breathe. He just had to breathe. He didn’t have to worry about the sounds he was making or what he might have said if he could have. It didn’t matter if not being tortured wasn’t supposed to be a reward or if Sevatar touching him like this sometimes felt like it was too. He didn’t have to be ashamed because he didn’t want it. Or to admit that maybe he did want it, because everything was already wrong and it was just circumstance, it was only natural, it wasn’t his fault if he wanted comfort, even make-believe comfort, right?

He bit his lip as he came in Sevatar’s hand, and couldn’t decide if Sevatar’s soft chuckle in his ear was a good thing or a bad thing or if he even cared when he was stroking him through the last shocks of his orgasm and cleaning him up.

‘You belong here,’ Sevatar murmured against his hair as he cuddled his victim. Rushal thought that might be right, because even the memory of light burned too much to not want the darkness.


End file.
